across his chest, her head resting against the motionless shoulder, her
face almost hidden against the gathered velvet and silk of his doublet.
Once or twice she sobbed convulsively, and then she lay quite still,
trying with all her might to die there, on his arm, before any one came
to disturb her. It seemed very simple, just to stop living and stay with
him for ever.

Again she heard a sound of deep-drawn breath--but it was close to her
now, and her own arm moved with it on his chest--the dead man had moved,
he had sighed. She started up wildly, with a sharp cry, half of
paralyzing fear, and half of mad delight in a hope altogether
impossible. Then, he drew his breath again, and it issued from his lips
with a low groan. He was not quite dead yet, he might speak to her
still, he could hear her voice, perhaps, before he really died. She
could never have found courage to kiss him, even then she could have
blushed scarlet at the thought, but she bent down to his face, very
close to it, till her cheek almost touched his as she spoke in a very
trembling, low voice.

"Not yet--not yet--come back for one moment, only for one little moment!
Oh, let it be God's miracle for me!"

She hardly knew what she said, but the miracle was there, for she heard
his breath come again and again, and as she stared into her everlasting
night, strange flashes, like light, shot through her brain, her bosom
trembled, and her hands stiffened in the spasm of a delirious joy.

"Come back!" she cried again. "Come back!" Her hands shook as they felt
his body move.